That's Our Thing
by bananajelly
Summary: Sam and Dean help out one of Dean's old hunting buddies on a stakeout. Sam is definitely not jealous. Stanford era fluff.


Sam is not jealous. Sam is Mr. Levelheaded, and he keeps a cool and rational mind at all times, and he is far too mature for trifling emotions such as jealousy. He is not jealous of the older hunter currently sitting shotgun in the Impala, while he's sitting in the backseat like a dumpy little kid. He's definitely not jealous of the fact that Dean has hardly paid him attention since this guy – what's his name? Clark? – has replaced him, for all intents and purposes.

Right now, Clark and Dean are laughing over some stupid story that Sam evidently was _not_ here for, and seriously, it can't be _that_ funny, right? Dean has got to be overdoing it a little bit. The story is something about a skinwalker down in Texas, apparently, and a (according to Dean, super friggin' hot) redhead.

"Guys, we should probably focus on the case," Sam says too loudly. He vaguely wonders if Dean can see his bitchface in the rearview mirror, then decides, who cares if he does?

To his chagrin, it's Clark that turns around and smiles at him. The guy hardly looks to be a hunter— he's around Dean's age, with dark, messy hair and brown eyes, and he's also got something of an easygoing manner, which is really just not endearing at all. "C'mon, Sammy-boy. Lighten up. You know with the way things go, we're gonna be staked out here for the rest of the night."

"Don't call me Sammy."

Clark raises an eyebrow. "'Sammy boy' alright with you?"

"No." Sam doesn't even bother to hide the bitchface.

"Man," says Clark, turning to Dean with a faux-wounded expression, "your brother always this uptight?"

Dean gives a short laugh. "You got no idea, dude."

Sam stews and resists making a jab about Clark needing their help for this hunt. _Man can't even take down his own werewolves..._

He turns on his flashlight and starts thumbing through the book of lore he's brought along with him, not really absorbing the information but in dire need of a distraction. _Stupid Dean, with his stupid hunting friends._ What else has he missed since Stanford? He'd assumed Dean had just been working with Dad. Clearly not. He gets through a few pages before backtracking to a passage that might actually be useful, before he's interrupted by the obnoxious blast of Dean's music.

 _She packed up her bags and she took off down the road…_

It's a Bob Seger song, Sam thinks, with a lazy, cheery beat, but he's not really sure which one. Anyway, it's annoying. "Dean," he grouses. "Can you shut that off? The point of a stakeout—"

"Sorry, can't hear ya," Dean shoots back, bobbing his head to the music. "And come on, it's not even loud." It actually isn't, but he is not about to admit that.

"You should learn a thing or two from Dean's taste in music," Clark grins from the front seat. Then he starts singing, his voice pitchy and off-tune:

" _She left me here stranded like a dog out in the yard…"_

Dean's getting into it too, singing and gesturing, and man, does Clark look like he's having the _time_ of his _life._

Sam doesn't know the lyrics to this song. He may actually be pouting.

" _Can't understand why she did me so wrong…"_

And seriously, is Dean blind to, like, metaphorical significance? Okay, Sam is _really_ glad Dean isn't the one with telekinetic powers, because if his older brother could hear _that_ line, Sam is probably gonna wake up to another brand-new training bra, tag still attached, on his nightstand.

"Oh, almost forgot," says Clark after the song ends. Is it just Sam, or the guy's voice somehow getting more obnoxious by the minute? "I brought fuel." He digs around in his duffel and raises up a plastic bag of food. Dean is looking at the man like he's god himself.

"We got, uh, chicken parm sandwiches, coffee… oh, there was pie, but I ate it earlier."

Sam's smirk lasts right up until the moment Dean says, "Bitch."

"That's our thing," Sam says in a way that can only be described as "bitchily".

Dean looks back at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Huh, nevermind," Clark says, holding up a plastic container of stale-looking pie. "Looks like I got extra." Dean's face lights up like a Christmas tree, and he makes a grab for the pie, completely and totally oblivious to the quietly simmering little brother in backseat.

Yeah, Sam Winchester is jealous.


End file.
